Memoirs of the Fallen
by ElocinMuse
Summary: An ongoing series of unrelated oneshots involving the relationship between Castiel and Anna. Some of them will be shippy, some not. All genres will be covered. Rated T just to be safe.
1. Fallen

**Author's Note:** This will be a series of (usually) unrelated oneshots pertaining to the Cas/Anna relationship. Not every entry will be "shippy" of course, but feel free to read into them however you like. I was going to make these another "ABC's of" fic, but decided against as this will allow me more freedom. (Also note: I will of course continue to update the ABC's of Castiel and Jody regularly until we reach Z)

I'll take prompts and requests - I don't write smut, but I'll rate everything T just to be safe. And, as always, reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated!

All entries, as seen below, will list the title and what episode the tag belongs to, if any.

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><p><strong>FALLEN<strong>

_Pre-series_

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><p>They're not allowed to have favorites. Love one brother or sister more than the thousand others they have.<p>

But he does.

He's unmindful of his actions at first, even to the stirring in his chest when they interact. When she says his name; when he says hers.

Her true name. _Annael_.

At first, once he realizes, he's immediately ashamed. This isn't how angels behave. They are designed to be emotionless, steady, and obedient. Not… _particular _to one fiery haired commander whose smile, genuine or bitter, does curious things to his insides. But he doesn't understand the extent of what this is, of course. That what he feels is not favortism alone, but so much more. If he had grasped the truth of it all, there'd be no telling the consequences that could come of it. Over time, though, he learns to live with it. It's apparently not going to cease or diminish, so he pushes it to dormancy. Not necessarily does he embrace it, but nor does he reject it. This is another thing angels don't do; walk amid shades of gray instead of marching that stalwart line.

She knows.

He can tell she knows. His actions, the ever-stoic set of his face, the willing obedience to follow her orders like the dutiful soldier and not some heartsick fledgling; they would never give him away. But his eyes do. The ethereally opalescent set of them is always a cacophony of darks and lights; everchanging to his surroundings. He's a curious creature—more so than his brothers and sisters, and he is famous for his softspoken delight in their Father's creations. The hue of his eyes can become hard and steely when confronted with battles, but when his gaze settles on her, it is one shade of blue.

The color of calm waters, soft and deep, with an undercurrent of respect, and crashing waves of longing. He is constantly stifling it, or so it feels. But Annael is observant—sometimes too much so for her own good. Though, she doesn't reprimand him. Instead, she'll smile at him. Of all things. It's small and a little forlorn; barely there, but his eyes always catch it. He's not sure what it means. Strategy, he knows. Tearing into the flesh of the Fallen and the corrupt, he knows.

Whatever _this_ may be, it is more foreign to him than the human creatures who walk the earth below them.

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><p>Annael knows Castiel will never give in to those feelings churning in the heart he isn't supposed to have. That none of them have.<p>

What purpose did it serve, for them, the sole two, to be so different?

When she speaks to him lately, voice low and somehow a broken shell of what she once had been, worry fills his soul. During their conversations, their missions, his tired wings fidget with concern. Something is wrong. And it's alien to him; confusing. She is the warrior he tries to embody. She is the mold for them all, at least within the ranks of their garrison. Uriel often commends Michael or Raphael for their bravery and razor-edged honor. But Castiel looks to her.

So when she stumbles over words and sentences, weighted down with frequent hesitation, he only wants to understand. When he asks of this, she only looks at him with deeply sad eyes, sometimes with a brush of her fingers over his. Hoping, perhaps even showing. But his brow knits, the lines of his mouth pulling into a frown at what cannot be explained to him in words alone.

Castiel will never act on what illuminates between them.

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><p>The following night, a shooting star falls from the heavens, lighting up the sky of Kentucky.<p>

There are days when Castiel considers tearing out his own Grace and following her.

But he never does.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Reviews and promps make me very happy. Like... Cas/Cheeseburger happy.


	2. Touch

**Author's Note:** Once again, these don't belong in any particular order. They can be read however.

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><p><strong>TOUCH<strong>

_4x16 - On the Head of a Pin_

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><p>He feels the brush of her hand on his, and something in the vicinity of where his heart should be jumps.<p>

_Together. _

His throat feels constricted in a way that renders him unable to speak for a long time. When he looks up, into her eyes, he loses himself to the sea of green he remembers. He forgets how to breathe, gaze combing over her face, logging every crease and line of pale skin to memory. Her human body looks so much like her true face, it's painful.

He's missed her.

At that revelation, it is inevitable that he remember the agony of her absence as well, her abandonment of Heaven. Of him.

He remembers every eon, every night and day in her absence. His need and subsequent denial of her, and the feel of his entire body aching with a loss he doesn't understand. The loneliness left in the wake of her leaving is something he can never forget. Because while her betrayal of Heaven is the reason she must die, her betrayal of him is something that pains him so much more.

She left him.

_Together, Cas. _

He can't do this. He can't remember this—the things she'd made him feel. So he hardens his heart and tears his hand out from under hers.

"I am _nothing_ like you."

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Still a shameless review whore.


	3. Death

**Author's note:** Apologies for the absolutely inexcusable delay, guys. (And also to those who are reading my Cas/Jody fic - hopefully I'll be able to update that tomorrow.)

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><p><strong>DEATH<strong>

_Pre-series_

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><p><em>What is the difference between dying and Falling? Many ask. And, for angels, it's often hard to distinguish the two.<em>

"_CAS!"_

It's an odd thing. It isn't his name, yet it is. Maybe even he'd like it, if things weren't so hellish right now. If he could feel anything other than the blinding pain of his fall. He's on the ground, torn out of the sky. The impact jars every bone in his borrowed vessel's body, and he's glad, not for the first time, that this soul has already perished. People tend to die young in 3,000 B.C., and this poor individual had been on his deathbed as he'd given Castiel permission to inhabit him. Jalem was his name, and he is the first ancestor of the long distant Novaks.

But no one's supposed to know that yet.

Annael rushes to him, seeing the blood—_so much blood_—and his inability to recover. There is Grace leaking from his vessel, and she prays the damage is not irreparable. His onyx wings flutter weakly around him, falling still a beat later. "Castiel, rise up!" she cries, dropping to him and scanning the sky with terrified eyes. There's no telling when more will come.

This is the War to end all wars. The Fallen have chosen a new leader, and Lucifer has rebelled.

Yet none of that bears importance because the youngest angel in the garrison—innocent Castiel, not yet hardened by countless battles and unwinnable odds—is dying. Feathers are torn from the black appendages sprouting from his back, and Annael can see that the bones of one wing are completely shattered.

Her arms come around him, holding. Her vessel's tears are wetting his borrowed face that looks so much like his own and spill into his shock of black hair. "Get up, get up, please, get up. Castiel…"

She's trying to heal him, surrounding him with her Grace.

She squeezes him tighter, forcing the pure light of Heaven into him, and he whimpers. He is hurt, badly, and he must be in pain. He _must_ be. Her own auburn wings unfurl, coming around to cradle him.

"_Anna_." His voice is a broken wreck of a sound. It aborts before he can finish her name.

Were the world not so drained of its color at this moment, she might have liked it. "You are not going to die."

He doesn't make a sound.

"Castiel, that is an order. _You. Will not. Die._"

His breaths come in weak, reedy gasps, but he manages to nod.

She stays with him, a shield, and casts out her true voice for aid. And Raphael, the Healer, is not yet the angry, spiteful creature he will become. The archangel descends on them, mighty wings folding into his back as he does. His is armored as they are, bloodied as they are, but he exudes Grace and wrath and _hope_. There is tangible concern in his ancient eyes.

"_Please_," is all Annael can implore.

Raphael is already at work, laying his hands on their broken brother. "It is all right. He will be restored."

_Do not fear_, is what his actions say. A burst of light erupts upon contact, and Castiel grits his teeth and writhes soundlessly under the saving agony. Annael's fingers are spread through his hair, stroking his face. A cry breaks from his lips and she soothes him as best she can under the circumstances. "Shh, Castiel. Be still. Be still." She cannot help the relief in her voice when she sees the dreadful wounds vanish away as though they never were.

"It is done," Raphael says.

Castiel, now alert and aware when not smothered by such levels of pain, is in awe of his elder brother. He's never laid eyes on an archangel before. "Thank you."

A curt nod, a sweep of a dark gaze. "This one will be a great warrior," he presages to their sister. The deep baritone of his vessel seems only to ingrain it more in truth.

Annael feels a spark of anger rekindle at this mention. She still cannot let go of him. "He nearly _died_."

But Raphael shakes his head, gesturing with a nod to the bodies she had not seen before. "And yet these Fallen would have went with him." Around them, six angels lay dead with wings scorched into the earth. Their blood paints the blade that has slipped from Castiel's fingers in the fight. "Well done, little brother," Raphael commends, laying a large hand on the fledgling's shoulder.

Castiel can only offer up a brief, respectful counter, and watches as Raphael turns his face to the sky and leaps. A second later he is gone.

The youth feels a small swell of pride at the archangel's approval. But Annael is wearing a frown that he doesn't understand. Castiel stands, facing her, sword once again where it belongs in his hand. "All is well, sister. I haven't died."

He's startled when, without warning, she is colliding against him in a fraught embrace. "Leave it as that, Castiel," she murmurs into his neck, her fingers once again lost in his hair. "Never die, do you understand?"

He wants to disagree, because what better cause to give their life for? Instead, his quiet voice drifts over her ear, "I understand."

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><p>What a terrible thing it is. For them both to die in rejection of what they each had sworn to defend.<p>

He thinks of her when Raphael tears him apart, fiber by fiber.

He thinks of her, perishing at Michael's hand, when Lucifer snaps his fingers and he is no more.

Anna, in favor of the humans, Falling, defending, resisting the angels. Only then to turn against the very core of her beliefs, hunting Sam, betraying him. He, rebelling against all he knew and upheld. Defending his new family to the bitter end, with his last breath.

_Because what better cause to die for?_

Castiel wonders how tragic it must be that he only thinks of her when one or both of them is dying or Falling.

_What has become of us, Anna? _

_What has become of us._

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Every time you don't review, someone dyes Anna's hair blonde. Cas's too.

No one wants a blonde Anna, and definitely not a blonde angel of Thursday.

Think of the pretty.


	4. Bound

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the wonderful reviews, guys!

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><p><strong>BOUND<strong>

_Season 4-5 AU_

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><p>Her lips are fastened to his neck and he has no idea what he's doing.<p>

Each kiss sends an electric shock down his spine and his hands find her hips as hers work deftly against the buttons of his shirt. "Anna?" It's a question, a plea, a hope, and so much more. It's a request for guidance, because he will always look to her. His searching blue stare is clouded over in a delirious haze. Her lips meet his, sealing them with a promise.

"It's okay. I'll show you."

The smile in her eyes matches the one on her face. She's beautiful. He's always thought so. Castiel watches her in fascination, in awe, a kaleidoscope of emotions passing over his face at this new experience. Waves of hair spill over her shoulders, reminding him of the Red Sea; her bright eyes stare into his while conveying every truth they cannot speak aloud. He can sense the lifeforce of every star and constellation, but those filling his vision are the only ones he can see.

"This means something, Castiel," she tells him softly, pressing close, her lashes soft as a butterfly's wing on his face.

He can only nod, mesmerized into silence at the touch of her hands on his bare shoulders. He feels the soft flesh of her cheek, the slender column of her neck. The way his fingers slot perfectly through hers. Her skin is a porcelain he's terrified of breaking, even though she is the stronger of the two.

Reading the thoughts behind his expression, she tells him, "Don't be afraid, Cas."

Castiel cannot help but smile—no more than a fleeting upturn of his lips before they're covered again by hers. Small hands slide over his ribs. His arms embrace the slight weight of her body against his. Castiel loses himself to the moment, this affair that has spent countless millennia in the making. Since the day his celestial eyes could see, the moment he could perceive her true voice and visage, everything has been amounting to this very hour. The lights around them flicker, the sound of ringing bells filling the space between them. Separate tendrils of Grace bond together, forging a new light.

He's loved her, in his own subtle, quiet way. He always had.

And if this was Falling, he was doomed from the start.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Reviews encourage the writing of more oneshots... ;)


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